And she who had driven with the profligate Danby to God alone knew what infamy—even she would return to act for me her part of sorrowing wonder—to weep and sigh. Oh, shameful hypocrisy! And with her would be my aunt and uncles to wonder also and shake grave heads over me, torturing me with their love while in my consciousness gnawed this undying horror that, like a demon raged within me, passioning for utterance, insomuch that day or night I had dreaded lest I babble the obscenities that haunted me. Better to die than speak! A bullet would be quick, as Anthony had said—and I had no fire arms! But I remembered that in the kitchen downstairs I had seen a pistol hung up in a dark corner and above the mantel hung George's bayonet, at whose keen point lay silence and oblivion; and this thought had in it a degree of comfort as I sat crouched in my chair, half-blinded by my unheroic tears.
The sun had set, the blackbird had ended his song, for evening was falling apace; against the glimmering dusk bats wheeled and hovered, and as the shadows deepened I watched the stars shine forth, while low down in the darkening sky was an effulgence that marked the rising moon.
Suddenly I arose, moved by a dominating purpose, kicked off my slippers, struggled into my boots and, taking surtout and hat, strode resolutely downstairs; by good hap there chanced to be nobody in the kitchen and, crossing to a certain corner, I took from the wall a small but serviceable-looking pistol, and having assured myself that it was primed and loaded, I slipped it into my pocket and stepped out into the fragrant dusk.
But as I crossed the yard, George suddenly emerged from the stables.
"Lord, Mr. Vereker, sir!" he exclaimed, touching an eyebrow.
"Any one about, George?"
"Nary a soul, sir—'cept me an' my little old woman. But 'bout a hour ago Mr. Anthony's lady rides up, all a-tremblin' an' pale—an' no wonder, poor soul, seein' Mr. Anthony galloped off lookin' like a devil an' a bottle o' my brandy in 'is pocket!"
"Had Mrs. Vere-Manville come to find him, George?"
"No, sir! He'd been gone a good 'arf-hour afore she came. 'O George,' says she, all a-gaspin' like, 'is Miss Lovel 'ere?' 'Upstairs along o' Mr. Vereker, ma'm,' I says. 'Oh, I must see her—I must see her!' cries she, a-shakin' wuss'n ever, so that I was afeard she'd fall off 'er 'oss an' 'im that gentle! 'Can I 'elp you ma'm?' says I. 'No!' says she, moanin' an' breathless-like. 'Oh, no, George—nobody can, O God, 'elp me, God 'elp me!' An' then, sir, down comes Miss Lovel an' runs to 'er. 'Why, Babs!' says she, anxious-like. 'Oh, what is it, dearest?' At this, Mr. Anthony's lady begins to sob—'eart-breakin', sir! 'O Di,' says she, all wildlike, 'O Di dear, 'e wants me! 'E says I must go—to-night—an' I'm afraid.' So Miss Lovel, she kisses 'er an' they whisper together. Then Miss Lovel calls for 'er 'oss, an' away they ride very close together, an' Miss L.'s arm about 'er. Lord, sir, who'd a thought it o' Mr. Anthony? So wild an' fierce-like 'e were—enough to fright any woman, 'specially such a beautiful, gentle creetur' as 'is wife! Drink 's a fearsome thing!"
"True, George. But Mr. Anthony would die rather than harm her, I am sure."